


Worth the Risk

by imperfectkreis



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Time, Kissing, M/M, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9231026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: Lance figures that Keith tastes a little bit like mint.Not totally like mint, because the paste they use in their mouths isn't actually mint flavored, but it's like, in the realm of mint, approaching the tingly sensation and wintery cool of actual mint.





	

Lance figures that Keith tastes a little bit like mint.

Not totally like mint, because the paste they use in their mouths isn't actually mint flavored, but it's like, in the realm of mint, approaching the tingly sensation and wintery cool of actual mint. What's that called? Convergent evolution? Lance can't really remember. He was okay in biology. Okay but not great. But like, when two organisms are like, adapted to the same niche but on different continents? And they're not actually related at all, they just sort of look and act in the same way? 

Yeah, whatever flavor their not-toothpaste is tastes sort of like mint. But it can't be mint because it's not from earth. Besides, it also tastes really, very faintly, of soil.

Or maybe that's just the inside of Keith’s mouth.

Shit.

Keith is kissing him.

Or he's kissing Keith or actually, maybe, more accurately, both those things are happening at the same time. Simultaneously he's kissing Keith and Keith is kissing him and all of it feels like drowning, drowning. Too much excitement and not enough air to go around. Because, despite common misconceptions regarding his self-awareness, Lance has known for a long time how he feels about Keith. Like, back at the Garrison long. Though back then it was just about Keith’s pretty face and his hot body and sick flying. Now, it's only gotten worse.

And Lance knows he's done a shit job of not wanting to stick his hands down Keith’s pants, even if he thought, up until this moment, that he was doing a pretty good job of hiding it.

He's known his jealousy and animosity stem from really wanting to know what Keith feels like, their bodies pressed together, sharing air. He's not an idiot. Knew that, but kept sniping, because arguing is a safety net when you're crushing on a straight dude. Because Lance has plenty of experience with that too.

Except, apparently, Keith isn't as straight as Lance thought. And maybe, a tiny part of Lance concedes, he hasn't done a great job of like, conveying to Keith in the past that he's totally, completely okay with putting his lips on Keith’s lips. So maybe, there are a lot of assumptions that need careful correction. Starting now.

They’re locked away in Lance’s room, Keith having stormed in after him, unwilling to let their argument go. Something about where to pin down their resources when they pass the next habitable planet. That doesn't matter now. Their arguments are never, ever about the substance of the thing.

Usually, it's Lance who doesn't let Keith walk away, trailing behind him like a high-strung puppy, nipping at Keith’s heels for scraps of attention, because shouting and scratching is better than nothing at all. But this time, it was Lance who gave up first, Keith’s face turning blotchy-red from exertion and looking so beautiful that Lance could just fucking die.

So it was Keith who shoved his way into Lance’s room, letting the door slide shut behind them with a pathetic click. Neither could be bothered to turn on the lamp. And while Lance expected another round of shouting, what he got instead was Keith’s lips, wet and warm against his.

And now he's pretty sure between the taste of mint and the clean, salty smell of Keith’s skin, this is how he fucking dies. Because there are stars behind his eyes and Lance has never really thought about how fucking huge the void of space is, even though he was training to be a pilot. But here, standing in this room, with Keith’s tongue licking against his, his hands fisted in Keith’s shirt, Lance feels really fucking small.

It's awesome.

They break apart, breathing heavy but still clinging to each other. Lance is afraid if he lets go of Keith’s shirt, he’ll vanish in a puff of smoke, slithering out under the door and dissipating into mist. Keith, for what it's worth, has a damn death grip on Lance’s hips, the pads of his fingers clenching down so tightly that Lance can feel the bruises blooming over his bones. Doesn't matter though, as long as Keith doesn't leave.

Even if Keith doesn't try to bolt, he's not really there either, his neck snapping to the right, staring at Lance’s wall instead of at his face. Lance sighs deeply, because it's not like any of this was ever going to be easy. So what if it turns out that maybe, definitely Keith is into guys? He's still Keith and that means stubborn as a mule and more likely to treat a potential interpersonal disaster with silence rather than talk about what's fucking bothering him. And Lance is prone to running his mouth, so he's gotta be the one to take that first leap.

Try to jump across that canyon, and hope, if he doesn't clear the gap, Keith with reach out and grab him.

“Hey,” Lance curls his hand gently around the back of Keith’s neck, threading his fingers through the long hair over his nape. “Hey, hey, look at me,” Lance urges. There's a tremor in his voice he can't shake. Because it's not like he's confident about this. As much as he tries to swallow down his anxiety, it just keeps frothing in his throat. So long. He's wanted this for so long. 

Rubbing his thumb along the side of Keith’s neck, he tries to urge Keith to look at him again, even if it won't end in another kiss.

Lance wants it to end in another kiss.

“Don't,” Keith mumbles under his breath.

Cocking his head to one side, Lance can't help but smile, a nervous sort of thing. Smiling lets him grind his teeth together, rather than drilling his nails down into the soft skin of Keith’s neck. He's gotta expel this energy somehow.

“Don't what?”

Keith doesn't answer, pressing his lips into so thin a line that they almost disappear. Not a great look, but Lance still thinks he looks great. He always looks great.

“Can I kiss you again?” Lance asks, his voice still small, just above the din of the air circulation system, that sometimes smells like cheese dust, the kind at the bottom of a bag of chips? Lance has no idea how that even happens. The castle is just strange.

He's strange and Keith is too. Because Keith doesn't turn his head, but he does say, “Yeah, okay.”

Lance slides his hand from the back of Keith’s neck, snaking around to his jaw. He takes Keith’s chin between his fingers, trying to tilt their mouths together a second time. It works, Keith yielding just enough that Lance can kiss him, slow and steady, though Lance’s heart decides to get all thunderously loud again.

Beyond this, Lance isn't sure what he should be doing. He drops his hand from Keith’s face, but isn't really sure where else to stick it. And his knuckles hurt on his other hand, still clenching down in the thin fabric of Keith’s tee.

The swell of _want_ inside his bones makes him want to push and pull at the same time. Put Keith up against the wall and grind their bodies together. Or fall back against the mattress, a tangle of limbs and hope. But he's too afraid. Lance is really, really afraid, okay? Because while he's got this kissing thing down, that's sort of the start and end of his expertise. 

On the second break, the panting is the same, but this time Keith starts shoving them towards the bed. Lance tries not to trip over his own feet. Only for a second, he thinks maybe Keith knows what he's doing. Yeah, maybe Keith can take over from here, steer this boat towards shore or whatever. Break them up against the cliffs. Because all Lance can manage is falling on his ass and parting his bent knees around Keith’s hips.

Keith lands with his palms pressed flat to the mattress on either side of Keith’s head, his eyes dark and wild. The back of his hair sticks up from where Lance was fucking with it, splaying around at all angles.

“I don't…” Keith starts, before zipping up tight again.

“Spit it out,” Lance tries to find a joke, a deflection, anything, because his hands are starting to sweat and having Keith perched between his thighs is wonderful and awful.

“Help me?” Keith asks.

Fuck. Lance isn't sure. He's not certain but he kind of just goes with what feels right. Because in the end they're both a mess and this is bound to get messier, but it's like holding onto a little piece of what they've lost. And found.

Lance tugs at Keith until they both properly get into bed. It's not really wide enough for the both of them but that's okay. They're supposed to get up close and personal. Lance goes back to kissing because that's one base they can keep on covering. Probably forever, if Keith will let them. He skims his fingers over top of Keith’s stomach, mentally cursing just how fucking fit Keith actually is. Even over top of his tee, Lance can feel the definition. It's even starker when he musters up the courage to slide his whole hand under Keith’s shirt, rucking up the fabric to get at more skin.

Keith starts mirroring him, wrapping his arm around Lance’s waist and pulling up his shirt at the back, tapping his fingers over each vertebrae as he works his way from about halfway up Lance’s spine, back down to his tailbone. He tucks one finger under Lance’s waistband, pressing between cloth and skin. But that's where he stops.

Lance doesn't ask for more, or for less, because this hazy middle of actually having Keith in his bed is almost too much to bear already. Like they both might shatter apart if they move too fast. So Lance lets their kissing die down, fading out into nothing. He tries not to think about how hard he is in his jeans, or how Keith sticks his nose into his hair once their mouths come apart.

As hard as it is to fall asleep, it's harder still not to be lulled by the steadying sound of Keith’s breathing, the warm puffs of air rolling along his scalp.

There's a lot they need to talk about. Yeah. But neither of them are prone towards eloquence. So maybe, just for the moment, it's better that they let this lie in silence. They can figure things out in the morning. Where they go from here. Lance wants this to work, whatever it is. He wants to feel like this more often. A little less homesick. Cobbling together a new home, with this family. With Keith in his hair and by his side. Sticking between his teeth like candy.

Yeah, yeah. They'll figure things out in the morning.

Lance kisses one last time against Keith’s chest, over where his heart should be. His tee smells like all the other laundry. Like the sheets and Lance’s jeans. Keith stirs, but only enough to shift his face against the top of Lance’s head, before falling back into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read! Comments and kudos are always really appreciated. I'm considering a second part, but we'll see...
> 
> [Tumblr](http://imperfectkreis.tumblr.com)


End file.
